Six winters waging a lonely war against myself, beneath a rougher sea, whelmed in deeper gulfs. A lonely woman leaning out of the tiny wooden window, my sable eyes staring at the wasted garden, waiting ceaselessly. Soft December night curled and fell asleep on my empty lap. Waking up to a bitter morning, time stained memories worsened my ache. Of friends, Of hope, of all bereft I strangled myself to a deep sleep, again.
His memories would wake me up from my deepest sleep. He would unlace the sloppy silver anklet of my foot, and kiss my bare heel with his scarlet lips. His lips would drive down my nape, tracing and tapping my collar bone softly. In crumpled sheets we would spend our days, amidst wine frenzy our mellow nights.
Sitting by the fireplace, gazing at the lofty pine trees covered with mist, and koti hills decked with twinkling lights. Restless nights, midnight smokes, long walks, all shorlived, a hundred indecisions all abruptly decided. The fabric of his presence started to fall apart. My tears unattended, my screams unheard. My calling rejected. Potting my bleeding heart in my pale hands, blood dripping. I swallowed the pain down my parched throat.
I would still go mad with tenderness at the mere sight of his face. But now my too tired heart started to retire. I knew no games I had only words to play with!